


Smug

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cuddling, Innuendo, M/M, PWP, Sofa!Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-13
Updated: 2012-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-29 10:39:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt: Sherlock whispers naughty things to John while they're on a case, because that means by the time they get home - since of course they can't go home until the case is solved - John will fuck him nice and hard, just the way he likes it.</p><p>Less whispering naughty things and more just PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smug

“John, really, it’s not that _hard_.” Sherlock scorned and with those words John knew that not only was his day likely to be miserable, it was also likely to be very sexually frustrated. And, with the way his luck was going lately, on top of all that Sherlock wouldn’t even be in the mood for a shag that night. Or tomorrow. Or, knowing him, not for another week or two.

Sherlock, the bastard, knew very well exactly what he was doing to John. Once he’d figured out that John’s sex drive was linked dangerously closely to his adrenaline high and that when he went ‘all wonky’ after a case - as one of John’s girlfriends had described it once - had just as much to do with Sherlock as it did to do with their death defying stunts... Well, John didn’t stand a chance.

And now, of course, Sherlock had got it into his head to push John’s boundaries. The consulting detective enjoyed sex – or sex with John, at any rate – just as much as the next man but he treated it much as he treated food or sleep. Something to take pleasure in but not to indulge in that often. Which John was fine with. To have any measure of Sherlock’s regard was outstanding, but to be the one person that he would turn his sole attention on was like being at the heart of a supernova.

The problem was that having all of that attention just on him didn’t last very long. And as soon as Sherlock’s brain kicked back in gear but there were no interesting cases days like this happened. John had woken up with a petri dish full of something resting on his stomach and a decapitated finger on the pillow next to him. The tea bags had been contaminated by eyeball juice and they were, as ever, out of milk. To top all of that off even the last of their coffee powder – something that Sherlock absolutely refused to touch – had been finished.

John had suffered through another fight with a chip and pin machine and had finally settled down in front of the tea with a fresh cup of coffee and a bacon buttie when Lestrade had burst in with the case that they were now at the primary crime scene of. It was not a complicated case, even John could see that. A simple case of a breaking and entering gone wrong. Lestrade had only called in Sherlock because he knew the temperamental man had not had one in a while and was well aware of his hissy fits so was trying to save John from the worst of it.

John knew that was what he was trying to do and so did Sherlock. And, ever eager to go against what was expected of him, he had of course gone along with it and decided to torture John in the process. Which was how John found himself on the receiving end of a ridiculous number of badly concealed innuendos starting with the ‘not _hard_ ’ one and ending with this; Sherlock deliberately not bending at the knees to look at some possibly imaginary piece of evidence on the ground so his arse was waving high in the air.

The Doctor bit his tongue and looked away. No. Enough. He should not have to deal with this kind of rubbish from his lover without, at the very least, a half way decent cup of tea. So John made his opinion known and turned away abruptly from Sherlock to leave the younger man to it.

“But John, the case-”

“Must be solved,” John finished for Sherlock. “Yes. I _know_. But you don’t need me. Hell, the police don’t even need you! So. Either you carry on with the case and let me go home or you stop acting like such an asshole and come home with me.”

Normally the smug grin that now spread across Sherlock’s features was one that John hated. It meant that Sherlock felt he’d done something worth a reward and that it was usually up to John to give it. Ha! Reward! If Sherlock considered a good buggaring a reward then he’d get his just desserts. Stupid question really, John considered, definitely not sighing in resignation. Sherlock had probably been angling for that result from the beginning.

Still, he was determined to stay angry long enough to have some lovely angry sex, so John did not turn back to see if Sherlock was following and he did not slow down his only slightly lopsided march back to 221B. And when they walked up the stairs to their apartment he did not think about the slight hesitance in Sherlock’s step as he crossed the threshold. Later, he would do, and he would find the nervousness endearing. He might even feel a little guilty about the uncertainty in Sherlock’s gaze the temerity that was so totally alien on the other man’s features. In spite of being in a relationship with John for almost five months now, Sherlock never seemed entirely certain that he wouldn’t be kicked out of his own house, his own bed at any moment. Whoever it was who had shaken Sherlock’s self confidence about relationships so badly? It was a good thing that John was a morally good person.

But as they entered their flat, John wasn’t thinking about of these things. He was thinking about the petri dish and the cold tea and not having eaten all day and _Sherlock_. Sherlock’s voice pitched deeper than normal, taunting John with words all day and then having the absolute nerve to wave his glorious arse in the air in front of John was just...

Sherlock wasn’t even through the door before John had yanked him down over the sofa, kicking the door shut and tugging the taller man’s coat to one side so he could see those ridiculously tailored trousers.

“John, I-” Sherlock tried to say, but it caught somewhere in his throat when John unbuckled Sherlock’s belt, pulled down his trousers in swiftly and kissed his butt cheeks. Trust him to go all-out on a plan and decide to go commando. Oh, Sherlock was definitely begging for this. It was a good thing that John hadn’t known about the whole no-pants thing whilst on the crime scene or he wouldn’t have lasted half as long.

“Fuck, John!” Sherlock gasped out as John’s tongue lowered and teased his anus.

He didn’t have time for this. As much as John loved having Sherlock’s skinny arse pushing back into his face and begging for more, what he really wanted was – “I suppose, since this was all part of some insane experiment, you have some lube?” he demanded.

Sherlock gave a small whimper as John’s mouth left him and eagerly scrabbled at the pockets of his coat, shoving the tube in John’s direction and spreading his legs wider.

Feeling more than a little merciless than usual, John spent barely half the time he usually did preparing Sherlock, his slick fingers working inside him rapidly and efficiently, revelling in the myriad of noises his partner made.

“God, Sherlock, do you have any idea what you’ve been doing to me. All. Day?” At ‘All’ he’d found Sherlock’s prostate and he thrust against it on ‘Day’.

“I,” Sherlock gasped out, moaning as John removed his fingers. “I think I have some idea,” he finished, able to complete a sentence now that neither John’s tongue nor his fingers were inside him. He even managed to pull another smug smile from somewhere, looking coquettishly over his shoulder and wiggling his arse again. “Are you going to fuc-mm.”

Sherlock’s taunt didn’t so much trail off as explode off as John pulled down his own trousers and pants with military efficiency, swiping a bit more lube on his cock and thrust into him, balls deep, no holds barred. One of the things he’d been very pleased about when he’d first had sex with Sherlock – he had not expected the consulting detective to ever shut up, even mid-coitus, so to find out that his mutterings became utterly nonsensical to the point of no longer being actual words was a wonderful surprise.

And now, thrusting rapidly and deeply into him over and over, here Sherlock was at his most incoherent; loud explosive noises erupting from his mouth and not a single one of them an actual word, other than the repeated utterance of John’s name.

As he felt himself approaching orgasm, John slowed his brutal pace a little, taking care to hit Sherlock’s prostate every thrust and fingers that had been digging almost cruelly into Sherlock’s hips now teasing along his cock, until Sherlock fell loudly over the edge, pushing back against John one last time and arsehole spasming around him, bringing the doctor to completion too.

“Fuck, Sherlock,” John huffed once the last of the white that had swallowed his vision receded.

“Yes, you did. Rather exceptionally well,” Sherlock replied cheerfully, once again looking disgustingly pleased with himself. “I should try and provoke you more often, if this is the result.”

John huffed a laugh, hopping the few paces to the kitchen to grab a tea towel. “You haven’t done anything to this have you?” he asked.

“I looked up innuendo on a site made by someone who apparently has not heard of spell check and I’ve spent the majority of the day not wearing any underwear – which is not as comfortable as hearsay would have you believe – and you really think that I’d be so stupid as to leave a contaminated towel lying around knowing full well that if my plan worked we wouldn’t make it to the bedroom?”

“Right, stupid question,” John muttered to himself, wiping himself off and pulling his pants and trousers back up before turning to take care of Sherlock, who was still lying bonelessly over the arm of the sofa, apparently not caring enough about decency to move to cover himself up.

But at John’s grumble Sherlock moved to prop his head up a bit so he could watch as John wandered back over to clean him up.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Sherlock asked suddenly, standing now that John was done and was rinsing out the cloth.

“What, that you got me all hot and horny for you on a crime scene we both knew we didn’t need to be at?” John clarified, flopping down on the sofa. “Well, it would have been nice if I could have actually had breakfast this morning.”

There was a pause as Sherlock swayed on the spot, undecided as to whether he should dig out his laptop again or waste a bit of time.

“Oh come here you daft git,” John grumbled fondly, tugging at Sherlock’s wrist and sweeping his feet up on to the sofa so they were lying on it, Sherlock sprawled on top of the shorter man. “I wouldn’t have you any other way,” John said, taking his time to kiss Sherlock leisurely.

It wouldn’t take long, of course, for Sherlock to be bored and prancing about the flat waving the bow of his violin wildly and leaving fingers were they really oughtn’t be left and John would complain. But he’d enjoy a bit of cuddling for now, just as he’d enjoy it every time it happened in the future. Because he’d love Sherlock anyway he could get him.

 _Fin_

**Author's Note:**

> OK, so it got a bit touchy-feely at the end there and Sherlock was way more insecure than I'd planned (I have no idea where that came from) and really, reading this back, it's not really what the prompt was asking for at all. But, since this was my first ever (kind of) attempt at porn I beg forgiveness.  
> Much love,  
> Yellow  
> xx


End file.
